Space battle conclusion, present moment, all HDF and Remnant Vessels standing down to readiness yellow, Sara
Sara hadn’t realized how wet her hair was from the sweat. The tension in the CIC was still solid and tense from the onslaught over the Black dreadnought before it ran away into 4D space. The first cheer didn't so much cut as it shattered the tension. Sara fell to her knees. Shaky, overcome by exhaustion as her adrenaline crashed.
It was over. They won. The Enigma reinforcements were destroyed, the huge ship had fled, and the Remnant coalition had almost completely captured Cruiser. Fatigue pulled down on her harder than ever. As soon as she made it to her room, she knew she was going to collapse, hopefully in her bed. Wait, no, first, she would tell Nick everything, get a big hug from him. Maybe she would demand he braid her hair like when they were young, as she fell asleep.
She jumped at frantic screaming over the CIC intercom speakers, “Hells bells, hells bells, Starboard spin habitat. Repeat, Tinman, send help. It's just me here and–” Metal scraping and labored breathing cut off Nick’s voice. In the background, a clash rang out. In a much calmer, icy cold tone, Nick said. “I’m bringing it to the starboard lock. Send anyone you can spare… and medical.”
40 min earlier, just after the Dreadnought missile barrage
Nick “Canine” Jerik had left a paper note for Sara letting her know he was going to his room. Grimoire was probably going too fast for any kind of course adjustments to matter, so there was no maneuvering at this point. However, with the increased gravity from acceleration and Sara rushing out of her room like a bat out of hell, he could tell something new was happening.
He couldn't do anything.
Sitting in his room, he tried not to look at the time. Who knew how long the battle was going on out in space. There were never any impacts or explosions felt through the decks of Grimoire. He wondered if the puppet signature had subsided by now. It was likely originating from the cruiser or maybe some ship nearby that somehow hadn't been detected yet. Round and round he went in his mind, trying but failing to calm himself. Running through explanations and counter-arguments. Nothing firm or factual to logically ground his worried mind.
His eyes still bothered him, but even with the severe nearsightedness, he kept looking at the blurry mass of the large trunk in the corner of the room, next to Maria's core. The white-spotted black goat automaton was resting comfortably on the thick black suitcase. Usually, when they were like that, VI’s were less asleep and more likely spending time together in Maria's digital house. That or arguing who would get to use the goat body. The thought made him smile, but the weight of the situation kept him from anything more than the barest curl of his lips.
Canine found himself wishing he could join the VI’s or interface in moments like this. It would keep him busy. The brief distraction of contemplating the idea faded as his attention was drawn back to the much larger trunk, 10 times bigger than the core suitcase.
It wouldn't hurt to put the exoskeleton frame on. He could tinker with some of the mechanisms or check the radio broadcast. It was as simple as putting on the helmet to listen in, he knew, but he was less worried about the radio broadcast and more just trying to convince himself to open up the trunk. One step closer to getting involved with the fight. Although his helmet's heads up display helped him navigate better with his damaged eyesight and get to his room with the augmented heads-up display the goat had updated and raised to his needs, he was still hobbled and handicapped. He would just get in the way.
He repeated those kinds of thoughts to himself as he opened the trunk and started donning pieces of the exoskeleton. The long, jointed metal limbs did little to offer protection. More meant for augmenting his jumps and cushioning his falls or powering his arms. Of course, they were perfect for mounting other equipment on them. He had intended to leave the mountable equipment off, but the soothing repetition of suiting up led him to subconsciously equip the wrist-mounted pile driver to the arm apertures. His mechanical movements ground to a halt as his conscious mind stayed his hand, his finger curling into a fist instead of thumbing the reactor packs' start-up. He flexed his fingers open, his glove flirting with the reactor startup. By far, one of the most expensive pieces of gear afforded him as a flight defender was totally useless, dormant as he was in this tiny room.
“Useless.” He muttered as much as cursed himself.
He didn't need to fully turn his suit on, but the shakiness in his hands and the vibration in his soul calmed a little under the weight of the donned equipment. He ran his hand across the joints, lingering on the scars and damages that he had repaired. Echoes of not just fights but rescues. Menacing as his suit was, it was more than a weapon to him. It was the second skin that had seen so much with him through the years. So few years that felt like lifetimes.
Lastly, he put his helmet back on, letting it properly seal in its clasp to his pressure suit underneath the exoskeleton. For once, he wasn't wishing for the softshell armor suit that was rumored to be an R&D that would go over the exosuit. He didn't need it for a maintenance check of his equipment. His eyes drifted to the chest again, the custom laser pistol, the spot for the piledriver he hadn't meant to take out and equip.
Thoughts of the fighting that must still be going on without his input beat down on him like a drum. His headache pounded, and anxiety washed over him in waves again. He was supposed to be distracting himself from it all. He put the pile driver and his unpacked weapons out of his mind as he busied himself with inspecting his arm joints first. He had to stay put and not get in the way.
He clicked on his radio and started scanning channels for any news. His brow furrowed at the silence. He walked over to his door and hardwired into Grimoire, searching for links to communications throughout the ship. There were none. He cocked his head, confused. There was no way the entire ship was quiet.
Something was wrong.
His inner calm dissolved as he scrambled to check his door camera feeds. The camera didn't show anything outside his door, but the microphone picked up a conversation slowly getting closer. A sea calm settled over him at the conspiring words drawing near. Now there was something he could do. Something he simply had to. He turned on his reactor pack. The fight had come to him.
Again, approximately 30 minutes ago, when there were 550,000 km until CANVAS REACH.
The mercenary had been easy to kill, but the unexpected amputation by the door had been more of a headache. It took time, but he managed to creatively improvise containment for a dead man switch bomb carrying traitor.
Canine left the observation tube, rid of the prisoner, and less worried about him blowing up or escaping. He tapped his helmet, manually scanning his radio and comm channels. Nothing. Everything was either silent or overwhelmed with static from jamming. He flinched at exceptionally high-pitched feedback on one channel.
“Maria, can you get anything?” he asked the Virtual Intelligence.
“Auntie is busy watching that guy. I’m still looking, but I’m sure there's some kind of jammer close by. It’s definitely on the Habitat module with us.” A little girl avatar jumped up in the corner of his HUD. Melody had brunette hair that hung down to her hips, little fairy wings poking out of her back, and little antennas on her head. Canine was certain that, by now, she and Maria were the whole reason for the attacks. He had spent nearly a year looking for Melody and her siblings, and their mother was making ships like the ARC in return for their safe return. He was not looking forward to telling Rune that their father was demanding half custody. These Virtual Intelligents were bizarre and complicated, even if useful at their specialized tasking. Still, he didn't know how he felt having Melody help. She was hundreds of years old, like the others, but still coded as a child.
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“What do you think?” Canine asked Melody hesitantly.
“I’m finalizing the last-minute heads-up display enhanced vision outline. The yellow object outlines should be sharper, and let you navigate well enough. Just remember, it doesn't show everything, and you're still short-sighted. I’ll tag hostiles as red, friendly as blue, but if they show as white and black lines, it could be either until I identify them.” Melody explained.
“Uh, yeah, I see that it's a lot clearer. I could see shit except that general glow of where those mercs were. This is much better. It kinda reminds me of Halo ODST.”
“You're not the only gamer nut in the family, nephew.” Melody giggled.
“Still not your nephew or family.”
“So you say.”
“So what now, was that all of them you think. Do we just hold out here?”
“No, I have some access to minor systems, but there definitely is some kind of physical device on top of the jammer interfering. I can tell from the door activations that there's some kind of room clearing going on that's heading our way.”
“Fuck, I mean poop.” Canine corrected his language. Melody grinned ear to ear and covered her mouth.
“I’m a lady, like Aunty, but we're both okay with vulgar brutes swearing.” She giggled.
“Well shit then, I guess I could move your cores.”
“That would only delay them. They will find us eventually, sooner than it would likely take for the CIC to realize something was wrong and send people to investigate. No, I think you should do what you do best.”
“And that is?”
“Go hunting, take them apart, but it would be ideal if you found the jammers so we can call for help.”
“I’m half blind and injured.”
“You're fine. According to Uncle, handicaps never stopped y'all before,” Melody said encouragingly. Canine smiled at the little fairy-like girl.
“Tally ho then.” Canine leaned forward, his hip and leg thrusters picking him up off the ground, propped forward by his power-assisted legs. It was hard not to smile as he rocketed into danger, as Melody started playing a custom playlist of music as she directed him toward the Enigma mercenaries.
Again, approximately 15 minutes ago, when there were 60,000 km until CANVAS REACH.
Maverick Canine Jerik could barely make out the static of Melody trying to warn him of what he already knew. One of the metal monsters that killed thousands was right on top of him. Canine ducked the swipe as he came out the door. The jagged claws and joints of the otherwise smooth segmented shell of the creature missed him. He kicked, feeling the familiar give of its ribbon-like skin without harming it. But he wasn’t trying to harm it. He was trying to jump.
He activated his legs and hip rockets, flying away from the next clawed attack. The metal monster stumbled from its power swipe through empty air. Canine slid on the back of his shoulder, kicking his feet up, flipping into a slide, sparks showering from the knees and hands of his exoskeleton. As he came to a halt, he transitioned into a lunge, shrugging off the 10g’s of force he just endured. What would have been an abusive strain to most humans, his flight defender gene augments made it so he barely noticed. He took the next 13g launch with little more than a grunt. Crossing 60 yards in the blink of an eye, straight down the Tinman’s throat, hitting it with a strike from his shock baton. It cracked with electricity around the shell ineffectively, and the blunt force trauma dented a ribbon segment. Canine switched up his attack, curling his wrist out of the way of his forearm-mounted pildriver.
The Tinman stepped back in sync with the hissing click of Canine’s pile driver priming. Not just a step back, it took three panicked stumbles away from him. So uncanny, it gave Canine pause. Initial disbelief was replaced by a crazed smile peeling across his lips.
“A.J. was right, you things do feel!” Before he was done speaking, Canine accelerated down the hall again, exaggeratedly readying an attack with the pile driver. Sure enough, it hyperfixated on defense against the weapon. Instead, Canine rocket-assisted drop-kicked one of its legs. It sprawled across the floor, vulnerable. He planted his feet and drove the pile driver at its head, barely dodging the last-second clawed foot attack. The pile drive punctured its collar instead, seemingly ineffective. Canine darted halfway across the hall, making space.
He didn’t notice the manic laughter until he landed, and it took a few more moments to realize it was his own laughter.
“You remember me! How is your meat puppet that I skewered on that planet? Oh, wait, you remember me! Does that mean?” The crazed edge in his words dipped into a magenta-flavored, grief-stricken maliciousness. “Do you remember them? Do you remember The Krieg, Little House in the Void, Calabask’s Perch…” Canine kept listing the ships from The Roost massacre. He reached under his shoulder, gripping the special tool he had made just for these things. “Do you remember ANY OF THEM!” he grasped the shock rod, sparks littering his surroundings as the superheated metal pulled free of its charging port. Sickening shadows flickered between the man and machine as if dancing a ritual of revenge. His arms crossed, the bright, hot metal rod leveled at the Tinman. His legs tensed, the actuators hummed, ready to lunge for The Roost's retribution.
His demonic wail overflowed with rage, the pressure rupturing vessels in his sclera, the whites of his eyes turning completely blood red. He charged, losing himself to a blinding pit of revenge. “I ‘Doooooo!”
In final reckoning, the beast is slain.
5 minutes after the Space battle conclusion, HDF and Remnant Vessels rendering aid to HFS Grimoire, Nick ‘Canine’ Jerick
The Halls of the starboard habitat deformed into a hellish landscape of brokenness and hate. It wasn't the family living spaces or the halls of communal homes anymore. The deserted starboard habitat had become the playground of monsters and demons, dancing to a song of retribution.
Nick “Canine” Jerik was many things. Wardog 1-2, the children's golem, the Hrafn, even a so-called Razgriez, but he was so much more than his titles and names shackled him to be. It didn't matter that he lost himself long before he first met these Tinmen. At the end of the day, he was but flesh. His muscles would fatigue, his wounds would bleed. Eventually, even his soul could fall to ashes, while its metal wouldn't burn.
Another loud crash of metal as Canine tore past, only denting a piece of the ribbon-like layers of its body that shifted around the jammer in its chest. Canine's damaged eye tinted his blurred vision red, pairing physically with his mental state of crimson hate. He was losing track of what he truly needed to do. Destroy the jammer, protect Maria and Melody’s VI cores. He feigned a kick at the chest on his next pass, making the Tinman set itself up for a solid hit with the pile driver. The white-hot metal spike he had unsheathed was already cooling to a dim orange glow, and a cherry red at the hilt. Canine landed behind the Tinman, and before it could turn around, he thrust the spike into the thing's shoulder. A satisfying hiss as he jumped away, barely dodging the clawed swipe that would have spelled death if it hit.
The Tinman crouched to lunge but fell to the floor as electricity coursed from the spike. Loud crackling pops of electricity coming off the pommel of the weapon crafted just for killing these monsters.
Static from his radio. He was barely able to make out the words of Melody. He hadn't even realized she had stopped talking. Too distracted from running into the Tinman to notice she had been being jammed as well.
“Two more spike hacks. You need to disable them!” Melody said. Two icons appeared on his heads-up display at the top of his visor. She had uploaded some sort of guidance to lead him to whatever was physically plugged into Grimoire, disrupting communication. Canine saw it, he was aware of it, but he ignored it.
He lunged at the thing, driving a kick fueled by 8 gravities of acceleration over a 5-yard lunge; the force rocketing man and machine into empty living quarters. Something broke, possibly a pipe or a piece of furniture. It didn't matter to Canine. He snatched a metal pole, impaling the still writhing Tinman. Once, twice, three stakes pinning the thing to the bulkhead. The smell of oil and burning servos in his exoskeleton, overclocking to drive the makeshift blunt spears through the machine and metal deck plates.
The jammer inside it was destroyed, but Canine couldn't hear anything through the ringing in his ears. Nothing mattered except him and this thing. He grabbed another rod and brought it down to strike the Tinman a fourth time. But stopped, an unmovable force tearing apart his left arm's exoskeleton and digging into his bones straight through his flesh like hot nails through butter. It had him. Canine hadn't cornered the thing. He had trapped himself with it.
